‘She’s having a bad day,’ said the white-coated nurse, looking at Annie with disapproval as she stood on the doorstep of the safe house in Harrow-on-the-Hill.
‘Hey, we’re
all
having one of those,’ said Annie, pushing past her and into the hall. ‘Where is she?’
‘Upstairs. In bed. I think she may be asleep and she really shouldn’t be disturbed—’
‘Which door?’ asked Annie, already trotting on up there.
‘The one on the left, but I don’t think—’
‘Thanks.’
Annie got up on to the landing and went to the door. She knocked softly, received no answer, and stepped inside. It was a big bedroom, high ceilinged and with a refreshing breeze stirring the nets at the big sash window on the other side of the room.
The bed was big too, so that the woman in it looked almost like a child lying there.
Annie stepped over to the bed. Mira’s eyes were open, but she looked bad. Her hair was slicked flat to her bony head, as if she’d been sweating heavily; her wrists and hands were still swathed in bandages. Her skin was an unhealthy yellow colour and her cheekbones stuck out like knives.
Annie looked at Mira and felt pity pierce her heart. She remembered all that Mira had told her about what she’d been through. The cruelty. The perversions. The rubber thing Redmond had held over her nose and mouth during sex.
Autoerotic asphyxia
—partial suffocation or partial strangulation to heighten sensation during sex. She thought of Gareth, hanging in the flat. Thought of Redmond reaching for her own throat when he’d become enraged. Mira had told her that she had only to smell rubber now to throw up with fear.
‘Annie,’ said Mira weakly.
‘Hi.’ Annie went and sat on the bed beside Mira. ‘How are you?’
‘How do I
look
?’ asked Mira with a glint of humour.
‘Like death warmed over,’ said Annie.
‘Yeah, you got that right.’
‘Feel rough, huh?’
‘Dog rough.’
‘It’ll pass,’ said Annie. ‘Stay with it.’
But even as she said that, she wondered just how deeply Mira had become wrapped up in the world of the professional junkie. She wondered if there was any hope of her pulling out of it for good. So many people sank back into the abyss. She hoped that wasn’t what lay in wait for Mira.
‘Not much option but to do that,’ said Mira.
‘Mira, I need your help.’
‘What with?’
‘Aretha. You remember Aretha. You know the soup kitchen at St Aubride’s church hall you told me about?’
‘I know it.’
‘Did you ever see Aretha there?’
Mira thought about it. ‘No,’ she said after a pause.
‘No?’
‘Wait. No, I did. Just once. Talking to that little squirt who ran it, little chap with poppy eyes and a fat face.’
Cyrus.
So that explained Aretha’s tattoo. Cyrus paid the girls to have it done, then killed them. Somehow he hadn’t got to Aretha—someone else had. What about the tall red-haired woman?
What about Redmond’s involvement? Then, to her annoyance, the door opened and the white-coated nurse was back again.
‘She’s very tired,’ she said pointedly to Annie. ‘She had a bad night. She needs to rest.’
Annie nodded and stood up. The woman was right. Mira looked as though she was having a hard time fighting the drugs off, and she probably did need all the rest she could get, poor bitch.
‘I’ll come back and see you soon,’ she promised. ‘When you’re feeling a bit brighter. Anything you want me to bring you?’
‘Yes,’ said Mira with a grimace. ‘A new life. I’m sick to death of this old one. All I do is throw up and sweat and shiver.’
‘That will pass,’ said the nurse reassuringly. ‘Given time.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Mira, and slowly closed her eyes.
She phoned Ruthie to be sure that Layla and her were okay. ‘We’re fine,’ said Ruthie, and put Layla on to enthuse about the kittens. Annie listened to her excited little voice and smiled and thanked God for her. Soon, maybe, she’d have her baby back with her. She really hoped so. For now, it was more important to keep Layla safe, even if she did miss her like crazy.
‘I love you, baby,’ she said as she rang off, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes.
‘Love you too, Mummy,’ said Layla.
Then Annie phoned her cousin Kath. ‘I’ve got minders coming out of my arse here,’ moaned Kath. ‘What you got kickin’ off this time?’
She soothed Kath’s worries and was just off out the door when Ellie phoned. ‘Any news about Chris?’
Annie felt so sorry for Ellie—she’d always
carried a massive torch for Chris. ‘No—no news at all,’ she said.
‘He’s going down for this, ain’t he?’ She could hear the tears in Ellie’s voice.
Annie had to be truthful. It would be cruel to get the poor mare’s hopes up. ‘He could be,’ she said. ‘Ellie, you’ve got to be prepared for that.’
At which point Ellie started to sob. Annie soothed her as best she could, but she felt in her heart that there’d be no good ending to this particular nightmare. Feeling depressed, she locked up and went out, got into the back of the Jag. Tony started the engine.
‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘Let’s have a check around the venues. Make sure everything’s running smooth.’
They did the grand tour of the arcades, snooker halls, pubs and clubs. Everyone greeted Annie Carter respectfully but there was an edge to their greetings. She thought of Gary’s warning and knew that the rumours were spreading. Knew she was walking a thin line. But then, hadn’t she always done that? They were nosing through the traffic up the King’s Road when a black cab veered in front of them.
‘
Jesus!
’ said Tony loudly, hitting the brakes.
Annie was jolted forward.
‘Bloody
idiot!
’ Tony was leaning on the horn.
Annie looked around, startled, starting to feel a
twinge of anxiety. There was another cab right up their arse. Another edged alongside and suddenly, just like that, they were boxed off. The driver of the cab alongside the Jag jumped out and came round the car as Tony reached over to the glove compartment.
‘Tone!’ shouted Annie. It was all happening so damned
fast.
The man flung open Tony’s door just as Tony was turning back with a pistol in his hand. Tony was a fraction of a second too slow. The man coshed him hard behind the ear and he crumpled. The man grabbed the pistol and heaved Tony over into the passenger seat.
So
fast.
Then another one threw open the back door and jumped in beside Annie. She shrank back. The one up front—in the fucking
driving
seat now—tossed the pistol to the one in the back. The one in the back was grinning, and wearing a deaf aid.
It was Deaf Derek. The treacherous
bastard.
‘Hiya Mrs Carter,’ he said, and rammed the pistol’s cold butt up hard against her throat.
The cab blocking them pulled away. The man beside Tony’s slumped body eased the Jag forward again, into the flow of traffic. The cab that had stopped alongside the Jag was still there, blocking that lane. Horns were honking, people were shouting,
but the traffic flow soon picked up and then that was all far behind them.
The driver glanced back over his shoulder with a malicious grin. Annie saw that he had a finger missing from his right hand, which was clenched on the leather-covered steering wheel. Her heart froze in her chest.
Charlie Foster, the number one Delaney boy. Charlie, who had big scores to settle with her. Now, he was going to get his chance.
‘Comfortable back there, Mrs Carter?’ he sneered.
He didn’t wait for her answer. The Jag sped toward Battersea. Tony was slumped unconscious in the front. No help there. No help anywhere.
Deaf Derek kept the gun pressed to her throat as the car roared along.
She’d rattled some cages all right. And now they were going to make her pay.
They shoved her inside a shed in the Delaneys’ breaker’s yard. Just her. God knew what they’d done with Tony. They slammed the door shut on her and she heard them bolt it from outside. Leaving her in the semi-dark, terrified of what might come next. Annie stood there and told herself to keep calm, to keep thinking—but all the time, panic was exploding in her brain and she was thinking:
They’re going to kill me.
She’d done the unthinkable—she’d crossed Redmond Delaney over something that mattered greatly to him. It mattered so much to the twisted git that he was obviously even prepared to risk Constantine’s wrath—and if he was prepared to go that far, she knew she was toast. Unless somehow she could get out? Escape? But there was a guard with an Alsatian on the gate. The guard looked handy and the Alsatian looked as
if it would rip her guts out if she set foot in the yard.
It was still daylight, though, and chinks of light were now becoming visible to her, permeating the gloom inside the shed. She was able to look around and actually
see
things. There were piles of rope on the floor, and a mounded heap of grubby tarpaulin sheets. It smelled stale in there.
If I could find something to use
, she thought.
Maybe a hammer?
But she couldn’t see any tools, only the ropes and tarps. She went over to the nearest pile of tarps, hoping there was something useful underneath them. She lifted the top tarp and fell back with a cry of horror.
She’d found Pete Delacourt, the tattooed man.
He was there, his tattooed face frozen in a hideous death mask, his staring eyes as blank and milky as a cod’s on a slab. The scent of decay rose from the body and she quickly dropped the tarp back over the corpse, gagging and backing up against the shed wall.
Oh Christ
, she thought in fear and disgust.
And now there was a noise and the door was opening. She’d had no time to get anything to defend herself with, no time at all. She turned to the door. Charlie Foster was stepping inside, smirking at her as he closed the door behind him.
She’d run out of chances, and now Charlie was about to get
his
chance for revenge.
Annie stepped back, but the wall of the shed was right behind her. She had nowhere to run. If she could reach the door, maybe she could get out—but she’d have to go through Charlie first. And that wouldn’t be easy.
‘Hi, Mrs Carter,’ he said, sneering at her panicked expression, edging closer.
Annie said nothing.
‘Aw now, that’s not polite. You ought to be nice to me, you know. Maybe we could cut a deal and I could get you out of this mess. But only if you’re
nice
to me.’
Ha! What total bullshit. Annie stared at him with loathing. Charlie would
never
cross Redmond. He was too scared of that unpredictable Irish temper. Too scared of waking up
dead
one fine day.
‘I’ve given you gifts, after all,’ said Charlie silkily, coming closer. ‘The flowers, did you like the flowers?’
‘You bastard,’ she said. The dead flowers. It had been
him.
‘Oh, what’s up? You didn’t like them? And the cat. Now did you like the cat?’
So
he’d
done that.
‘You’re one sick sorry son of a bitch,’ said Annie,
feeling behind her for something—anything—to use. She’d brain him without a qualm, given the slightest chance.
His smile dropped and his pale blue eyes wore a fake look of hurt. ‘Now that’s not nice. And you could be nice to me, Mrs Carter, you know you could if you tried. Like you’re nice to that fucking
Yank
Barolli.’
Annie stiffened.
‘Oh yeah, I saw you go in his house. I’ve been keeping tabs on you,’ Charlie went on, edging closer and closer. ‘I saw you there on his desk. In your undies.’
‘You sneaky little arsehole,’ said Annie flatly.
So he’d been snooping around after her, the creep. Now she was
glad
she had once had him done over. They should have finished the slimy little fucker off: letting him carry on breathing had been their only mistake.
‘It’s all over for you, Mrs Carter,’ said Charlie. ‘You think Steve Taylor and Gary Tooley and the rest of the Carter boys are going to take you boffing Barolli’s brains out? They won’t. You’re finished. Hell,’ he laughed, ‘you’re finished
anyway.
Redmond’s gonna see to that—but not before
I’m
finished with
you.
’
He lunged forward very fast and caught her. Annie struggled away from him, disgusted and furious, while he tried to get his mouth on hers.
She tried to get her knee up, but he was clever: he had his lower body turned aside, she only connected with his thigh.
‘You dirty little shit,’ she gasped, grunting with the effort of trying to wrench free of him.
‘Now just hold still…’ His hand, the one with the missing finger, the one
she
had had her boys cut off, was on her jaw, trying to hold her head still while she strained away from him.
Oh fuck
, she thought in desperation.
He was stronger than she’d thought. She could feel her own strength draining away. She didn’t have a gun, or she’d have shot him dead in an instant. She didn’t even have the kiyoga. She’d been taken completely unawares and that was sloppy, careless; she knew it. She had nothing, and she was getting weaker by the second.
He was going to rape her. And
then
he was going to follow out orders and kill her. A scream escaped her before his mouth, his filthy repulsive mouth, fastened on hers. It felt cold and slimy. She started to retch. Suddenly, light flooded into the shed.
‘Charlie!’ The voice cracked like a whip.
Charlie dropped her like a well-trained dog called to heel. He turned. Annie sagged back against the wall, breathing hard, and blinking against the light she saw Redmond Delaney standing there, outlined in the open doorway.
‘Get out,’ said Redmond.
Breathing heavily, Charlie gave her one last sneering glance, and went.
And then, to Annie’s horror, Redmond came inside and shut the door behind him.
‘Mrs Carter,’ he said softly into the semi-darkness. ‘What a talent you have for poking your nose in where it’s not wanted. And you know—it’s really got to stop.’
Annie gulped. Seriously shaken from her tussle with Charlie, nevertheless she could clearly see that there was much greater danger here. Redmond was less predictable than his henchman, and ten times more deadly.
‘I’ll stop when
you
stop,’ she said with bravado. She was panting, close to exhaustion.
He gave a low laugh at that. She saw him moving closer and braced herself for whatever was coming. But he didn’t lash out. Instead, very, very gently, he reached out and stroked her face. She flinched.
‘Such a pity,’ he said.
And she knew what he meant then. She knew she was going to die here.
‘You’d be wasted on Charlie,’ he said in that soft, soothing Irish brogue. ‘He’s got no refinement, no imagination. Unlike me.’
He came in even closer. Now, straining back against the wall of the shed, she could feel his breath on her face. She’d come within a whisker of violence
from Redmond before, but now there was no one here to restrain him. No witnesses. Nothing.
Oh God help me
, she thought.
‘Try and relax, Mrs Carter,’ he said in that same low, charming voice. ‘Relax and you’ll begin to enjoy it.’
And suddenly there was something over her nose and her mouth. She choked, struggling for air. She couldn’t breathe, she was drowning in the stink of rubber; it was nauseating, she couldn’t
breathe.
She raised her hands and clawed at his, holding the thing over her face. She could feel the blood pounding in her head, could feel consciousness starting to waver.
This is what he did to Mira
, she thought in a crazed whirl of terror.
This is what excites him.
She struggled, kicked out, but he was stronger than Charlie, stronger than she would ever have believed; she couldn’t fight him. She felt blackness starting to envelop her. He was killing her. He’d threatened it, and now he was carrying out his threat. She could dimly see his face, handsome, deadly, focused entirely on her. He was
smiling.
‘Redmond,’ said a female voice. Maybe she imagined it, she could hardly stand now, she was sinking, falling…
But there was light flaring into the darkness now. She could see light.
‘
Redmond!
’ The voice was sharper. ‘Come on. Stop. Enough of your games.’
Suddenly, her face was free. Annie whooped in a huge gasp of precious air. Her head was spinning, and for a minute she could see nothing. But then her vision cleared and she saw Orla standing there at the door. Redmond had stepped away. He was holding a small square of rubber in one hand.
‘
Bastard
,’ she choked out.
Orla stood there, very erect, very cool, staring at the pair of them. Charlie, sneering, appeared at her shoulder. Redmond might have spoiled
his
fun, but he’d made damned sure that Orla had ruined his, too.
‘Come on,’ said Orla. ‘Bring her over to the office.’
Much to Annie’s surprise and relief, Redmond didn’t object. Charlie grabbed her arm, and with Redmond walking ahead with Orla, he bundled her over and inside the static.